


Best of Three

by OkayAristotle



Category: Batman: Arkham (Video Games), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Face-Fucking, M/M, Oral Sex, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:02:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29520582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OkayAristotle/pseuds/OkayAristotle
Summary: Will and Slade spar. Will's not sure if he lost or won.Set during chapter 13 ofPlay Your Cardsby Romiress.
Relationships: Slade Wilson/Slade Wilson
Kudos: 16





	Best of Three

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Romiress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Play Your Cards](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22277320) by [Romiress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/pseuds/Romiress). 



> Uh, this has been half sitting in my drafts for... months. Oops. Have some blowjobs, while borrowing someone else's universe. Ty to Romi for letting me play with her boys for a bit.

"Wear something comfortable." Slade had said, like Will had never sparred before. "Something you don't mind getting a little dirty." 

So Will had gone ahead and borrowed a pair of Slade's sweatpants. His favourite pair, actually. See how much he likes _those_ getting a little dirty. The top was Will's own, at least, a long-time favourite for sweating in. 

The Cave was good in that respect. Natural temperature control, if you were working up a sweat. Not quite enough to have muscles going stiff and cold. He liked it, in a way. 

Never thought he'd be comfortable in Batman's _Cave,_ of all places. But there he was. Slade's sweatpants on, bouncing on his heels on a set of training mats, a frankly ridiculous amount of weapons lined up within reach. 

Slade was busy wrapping his knuckles, which seemed a little pointless. Gave him a real long stare until Will joined him, starting at his wrist and then through each knuckle. 

They finish up in silence, which is a little odd for Slade, usually. He's quiet, sure, but not usually _silent_ when there's a fight about to happen. 

Sorry, _spar_. Will rolls his eyes, stepping back onto the mats. From the grin tugging at Slade's mouth, he doesn't trust that one bit. 

"Ready?" Slade asks, though he's half turned from Will, working through some absolutely useless stretches. They don't exactly _need_ to stretch. Shows off the defined ridges of muscle, if nothing else, Slade's own shirt riding up slightly. 

"Whenever you are." He replies. Bounces on his heels again, getting ready for the movement that will no doubt come. Once Slade gets started, he tends not to stop, not until they're both exhausted. 

And then his feet are swept out from under him, Slade crouched against the floor, and Will's mind is still stuck on that brief flash of abdominal muscles. Fuck. 

He grunts. Sits up in time to hook his ankle around Slade's, jerking hard, the other man landing flat on his back too. 

"Asshole," Will mutters. Listens to Slade's laugh, a truly happy sound, and narrowly misses a swift kick to his thigh. "You really want to play it like that?" 

"Who said anything about _playing?"_ Slade throws back. Jackknifes back to his feet in one smooth motion that would make Will jealous if he wasn't too busy looking for the next swipe at his feet. 

Instead, it comes high, a simple right hook that he blocks without thinking. And then a left, and a knee to his middle, and Slade pushing in, in, in, relentless and every hit feels like a _brick_ when it lands. 

He doesn't fight like this with Bruce. Not as far as Will can see, anyway. This is heavy and hard and _fast,_ but Will can do that, too. Just as good as Slade can, at any rate. 

He swallows the next hit, breath leaving his lungs in a rush, and goes for Slade's throat. If he's good — and he is, of course he is, there's not exactly a _question_ of that — he'll dodge it. 

Instead, Slade takes the hit, though he moves just slightly. Has it land clean across his cheek instead, grunting when the impact meets. 

_Ah._ _So it's like that,_ Will thinks, and takes the advantage to knock Slade back, one step and then two, and then another. After a while, it gets easier not to think about it. Not to plan it, when he can see where he needs to be clearly, what hits he can take, which he can't. 

Slade doesn't hold back, either. Some are _meant_ to hurt, and the hand that winds into his hair is just downright dirty fighting, coupled with the knee that heads straight for his nose. 

Bruce would probably have something to say. About the way they're going at it, but probably also about how it feels an awful lot like _trust._ A lot like Slade saying they're equal, at least in this. There's no pulling real punches, when he trusts Will to stay clear of those. 

He punches Slade in the dick. It stops his nose getting broken. They both pull apart, and there's a grin on Slade's mouth, chest rising and falling heavily.

"Not bad," he comments. Will bares his teeth, not quite smiling. "Low blow, by the way." 

"Don't pull my hair, then." He throws back. Pants just as heavily, a brief break in the barrage of hits. He strips off his shirt, discards it with a huff. 

Slade snorts. "But you look so _nice_ when I pull your hair." 

For a brief moment, Will's brain freezes. Caught off guard, he leaves it too long to reply, watching Slade's smile grow into something hot and heavy. 

Will grabs one of the staffs off the rack, ignoring that comment entirely. 

Slade's eye narrows, already moving again. Goes low, which is stupid when he's tried that about six times already, and gets a swift crack to the head for it. All it gets is a barked laugh and then Slade is _too_ close to hit, one arm under his thigh, the other around his middle. 

"Oh, fuck no—" Will says, the same moment he's _lifted_ and promptly slammed over Slade's shoulder into the floor, landing hard on his shoulders. 

Rather than get up, Will takes the _very_ low ground and jabs Slade in the back of his thigh. 

"Ow," Slade mumbles. 

"I'm sorry, did that hurt?" Will asks, voice dry. Pokes Slade again. Gets a middle finger in return, and a lovely view from below, Slade's skin starting to get damp with sweat, muscles shifting when he sets his hands on his hips. 

"That was _easy."_ Slade informs him. "Do you need some motivation?" He cocks his head. "I know you can do better." 

Will grits his teeth. "I wasn't expecting this to turn out like high school _wrestling._ " He grunts, a little surprised at the hand that's offered. Eyes it warily for a moment before taking it, Slade's fingers wrapping tightly around his to haul him to his feet. 

"Always expect the—" Slade cuts off, blocking the next jab at his middle with a glare. And then announces, tone serious, "Best of three gets a blowjob." 

"What." Will blinks. "No." Has the staff turned on him in a heartbeat, Slade fucking _quick_ when he wants to be despite the size of him, and there is a _lot_ of power behind his shove. 

"Why not?" Slade asks lightly. Dances to Will's left on silent feet, fists at the ready. "Scared you'll lose?" Sweat catches the lights of the Cave, in the hollow of his throat and the wide expanse of his biceps, and well, a blowjob _does_ sound good all of a sudden.

"Worried I won't be into you after I kick your ass, actually." He throws back. That gets a look from Slade, nose wrinkling, and then they're back at it. 

Slade's right, at least. With a goal, it's so much easier to fall into. To switch off a little, taking every hit that Slade dishes out, giving it all back in a way he can't with anybody else. 

Hitting back like this usually means his life is in danger, or something close to it. Or he's pissed off. Instead, all he feels is excitement curled in his gut, a buzzing in his nerves that only gets louder with every point scored. It feels good, and he gets the feeling it might for Slade too. 

Only more so when the staff is slipped from his hands, Slade tossing it over his shoulder. It lands with a dull _thunk_ , bouncing off one end, Will momentarily distracted, and then there's Slade's skin on his, another grapple that will _not_ be happening for a second time. 

He gets one arm under Will's thigh, fingers dug in with bruising intensity, and then there's Will's own hand under his arm. Digs his fingers into his underarm until Slade makes a noise of pain, listing to the side. 

"Did you just try and _nerve strike me?"_

"You want that blowjob or not?" Will asks, taking the time to step back, put some distance between them again. 

Slade rises, rubbing his side for a moment. And then his hands grip the hem of his shirt, starting to peel it off in one slow motion. 

After, Will thinks of it as a missed opportunity, too busy drinking in the sight of all that bared muscle, all that skin that he _wants_ so badly he feels lightheaded for a moment. All those seconds he could have used to get a hit or two in. 

Slade throws his shirt not to the corner but straight at Will's head, smirking when he says, "Head out of the gutter. Haven't won yet." Definitely flexes a little. 

Fucker. 

This time, it's Will who closes the distance, keeping his eyes firmly on Slade. Calm. Watches that smirk grow into a smile full of teeth, and drives his shoulder straight into Slade's abs, fingers closing around his ankle to _yank_. 

Oh, how satisfying it is, watching Slade hit the floor like a ton of bricks. If only he had his sword, pressed to the vulnerable line of his throat. That would be it, match won. Blowjob for Will. 

But he doesn't, because— 

Well, because. 

Will drops to his knees none too kindly, landing on Slade's hips. A fist lands squarely against his cheek, full-force, makes his head swim for a moment, dizzy as he notes Slade's other hand on his hip. Doing absolutely nothing. Just resting there. 

"Yield?" 

"Oh, fuck off. That's nothing." Slade rolls his eye. Will presses his palm against his cheek, forces his head to the side, into the mat. 

Under him, Slade bucks, but there's no real force behind it. Just a rise of his hips that drives the hard length of his cock right against Will's own, suddenly _terribly_ aware of the blood pumping through his veins, right between his thighs with adrenaline and violence and Slade's hot, damp skin under his fingers. 

Slade twists, ever so slightly, grinds up into him. Twists a little more until he's nearly on his side, Will too caught up in figuring out what, exactly, he's doing before there's a knee crammed between his thighs. Slade straightens, _shoves._

He feels a little sick for a moment, kicked off Slade quickly. And then Slade's on him, large hands wrapped around his wrists, the weight of him firm and insistent. A triumphant grin on his mouth that Will so badly wants to kiss, a streak of blood collecting between Slade's teeth. 

He pants, bruised and aching in a way that feels _good_. Slade's fingers squeeze his wrists, a new lance of pain, and sits firmly over his hips. Will blinks. "Yield?" 

"Giving up so soon?" Slade asks. Doesn't sound displeased in the slightest. Grinds his dick into Will's with purpose. "You shouldn't have." 

"Best of one." He snorts. 

"What, couldn't go for more?" 

"I think people would come looking." He reminds him. Which is true. Huffs when Slade ignores him entirely, watching the low rise of Will's sweatpants instead, the outline of his cock visible.

"You should wear my stuff more often." He comments, quiet and low. Pleased. 

Will bites the tip of his tongue. "You gonna sit on me all night?" He curls his fingers, straining a little in the hold, still tight despite Slade's relaxed posture. He could break free if he wanted — if he _really_ wanted — but he finds he doesn't. 

So much easier to stay where he's put, Slade's heat on him, Slade's hands on him. 

"Well," Slade murmurs consideringly. And then he's sliding his hands up to meet Will's, fingers slipping between his. An awfully intimate gesture, given the bruises, in Will's professional opinion. 

"You're about to be insufferable, aren't you?" He mutters. Ignores the heat in his palms, his body drawing all his focus to those two points of contact. Traitorous, when Slade's dick is _right there._ "Can you just get it over with?" 

Above him, Slade tips his head, squeezing Will's hands. "Dunno. Can't a man enjoy his prize?" 

"I'm not your prize." He huffs. 

"Your mouth on me is." Slade reminds him, as if he could _forget_ , and proves his point when he leans down. Crushes his mouth into Will's, lips warm and dry. Pushes his way in with no warning, tongue and teeth, a little too quick to keep up with, lighting a fire in Will's nerves. 

Copper coats his tongue, a familiar taste, and beneath that is all Slade. That taste he's learned well by now, the feel of his mouth that Will's found he'd know half-asleep, at six in the morning or eleven at night, tasting of toothpaste and bitter coffee and _blood_ — 

Slade melts on top of him, hard muscle beginning to fit against his perfectly. Bare skin on bare skin, a little damp with sweat when Slade's palm travels from Will's hand to his hip. Up over his side in a hungry path, moulding around his jaw. Around his throat, thumb pressed tight to the spot right beneath his chin. 

Will grinds up, jerks his head back with a thin noise. Slade takes the hint and leans in, blunt teeth and hot tongue when he sucks hickeys into his skin. They'll just melt into the other, nastier bruises they've given each other. 

He follows hot kisses with bites, a harsh dig of teeth that Will feels _acutely_. Can't help the noise that claws up from his throat, unbidden, his free hand tangling into Slade's damp hair. Holds him closer and then tugs away, not sure which fucking way he wants, Slade so damn hot on him.

Will gasps at a particularly sharp bite, fingers tightening until even Slade grunts, dragging that hot mouth back to his. Kisses him deep, and Will has no choice but to open up when Slade's thumb slides along to press into his jaw _hard._ It shouldn't be so damn hot, the way Slade dips into his mouth, claiming him thoroughly. 

They break after an indeterminate amount of minutes. Could have been hours for all Will fucking knows. And Slade doesn't seem to care, all the time in the world when he pulls back, his mouth bitten and red. Will follows him, of course, nips at the wet skin of his lips turned soft after so many bruising and hungry kisses. Slade kisses back, but he still moves out of Will's reach eventually. 

Slade's hand keeps him pinned, a heavy force behind the gentle touch. And then Will finds he doesn't care, when Slade is sitting up, sliding his other hand down to the waistband of his sweats. Palms his cock once, twice, and then reaches in to grip it tightly, stroking himself only a handful of times. 

Will swallows heavily. Watches with rapt attention as he pulls his cock free, caught off guard by how _red_ it is, the tip slick with precome in the circle of Slade's fist. And then he notes the size too, suddenly so much more… intimidating. Given their positions. 

Not quite _looming_ , but there's a certain disadvantage to being _flat on your back_ , a sizable cock a few inches from your face. Will watches Slade's fist work down the length of his cock, thick and hard, standing at attention when he lets go. 

And then Will looks up, catching Slade's heated gaze. A little bit of softness there, a little bit of challenge in the curve of his smirk. The same kind he wears when he spars. With a nudge, he urges Will to shuffle beneath him. Onto his elbows, a little more on level with his cock. 

Slade makes a low noise in his chest, nearly a hum. Threads his fingers into Will's hair and it is— stupid, absolutely stupid, how time seems to get a little slower, the beat of his heart a little louder. Will's mouth feels glued shut. 

"Come on," Slade says, but it's spoken softly. Encouraging, rather than impatient. "Open up for me." He strokes a thumb over Will's temple, pressing at the edge of the bruise that's grown across his eye. 

Even then, he can't quite bring himself to do just that. Open up. Let Slade sink into him in an entirely new way, and Will can only _imagine_ what it would be like. Thick and choking, heavy on his tongue. Slade's fingers in his hair like a leash, controlling even when it's not intended to be. Will on the floor, pinned by his weight. 

With his free hand, Slade jerks himself, a slight twist near the tip that Will knows well, though it's an entirely different sight from the outside. Slade's fingers stroke through his hair, right to the sweat-curled tips. 

"You don't have to," he adds. "We can do something else." 

"I don't take bets I can't follow through on." Will replies. Licks over his bottom lip, mouth uncomfortably dry. Watches the smooth, practiced motion of Slade's fist, the sizable girth between his fingers. 

How that would feel, splitting him open. He wants it, even if he's not sure _how—_

He cuts the eye contact and leans in, bumping against Slade's cock with the soft flat of his tongue. Salt and sweat hit his tongue first, and then the texture as he runs his tongue under the head of his cock. Silk-soft and heated, wet. If he focuses on that, and not the way Slade's stopped breathing above him, he can slide a little closer. Feel his cock bump against his teeth, Will adjusting with a furrow between his brows. 

He's not good at it. Slade says nothing, not on that first sink down. If he couldn't hear his heart thudding in his chest, Will would think he's feeling nothing. But he catches the uptick when Will tightens his mouth, lips sealed around the tip, and sucks hard. 

Slade groans, a real throaty sound, the kind he's heard Bruce give him, and it feels like fucking _electric._ Will suckles again, presses the flat edge of his tongue to the underside of his cock _hard,_ and drags back. Pulls off with a pop and a heavy exhale, not aware he'd stopped breathing too. 

"This seems worth it already," Slade murmurs. Winds his fingers through Will's hair that little bit tighter, locking them in. When Will doesn't move, still busy picking apart the taste of salt and precome and _Slade,_ he tugs him forward, the head of his cock dragging over his parted lips. 

He opens up easier this time, less teeth, and doesn't hesitate to wrap his mouth around him with a hum, Slade's thigh tensing over his chest. It's less shocking this time, the groan he gets when he slides forward another inch, Slade's cock starting to split his mouth open. He's unexpectedly heavy in his mouth, something Will hadn't given much thought to, only adding to the feeling of being full. 

It's not even close to half. His jaw aches when he bobs his head, saliva starting to pool under his tongue. Slade's started breathing again, shallow and sharp, and his fingers flex against Will's head rhythmically, as if he wants to push him on. 

He should. Will wants him to. It would make this a whole lot easier, if he didn't have to— to think so much. What to do and how it makes Slade feel and if Will can really take anymore without gagging. It would be so loud in the near-silent Cave, and Slade would look down at him in that way like he expects better. 

It would be easier, if Slade would just move. Will's nails dig into the mat beneath him, soft foam giving easily under his strength. He swallows around the length of Slade's cock, wincing when he's _sure_ his teeth get a little too friendly but all Slade does is exhale like it's punched out of him, hips twitching forward. He tries again, this time more carefully, runs his tongue from side to side under the heavy weight of his cock. Wets it, easier the next time he pulls off and sinks down again. 

His cock slides a little deeper, hits that point where Will doesn't panic but his throat certainly does. An unfamiliarity to it, tightening to keep Slade _out_ and Will chokes hard, pulling off with a slightly nauseous feeling. When he flicks his gaze up, his eyes water a little harder, Slade's expression turned blurry. He blinks sharply, trying to clear it, and only manages when Slade's other hand strokes over his cheek, under the delicate skin beneath his eyes. 

"Nice try," Slade murmurs. "Swallow next time. Helps, sometimes." He rocks his hips forward, a heavy weight across Will's sternum. 

He grunts, takes Slade's cock again, and pushes back when he feels it. That too-far point, Slade's cock hitting all sides of his mouth, dragging across the sensitive back of his tongue. He digs his nails into the mats when he swallows, wincing at the difficulty, and that is _not_ very attractive but he doesn't really care for a moment. It's a challenge, and he's damn well going to beat it. 

Slade's cock hits the back of his throat, and Will's stomach clenches for a terrible second, and then Slade's pulling back, just an inch with a hiss between his teeth. Rocks back in, hitting again, the hand in his hair tilting Will's head down, the next bump against his throat more angled. Better positioned to grind in, Slade's moan low and from his chest, right when his cock pushes all the way in. 

Will couldn't breathe even if he wanted to, and his throat _buzzes_ with sensation _._ Aches without pain, more full than he'd have expected. Experimentally, he works his tongue, and doesn't get further than a few, small swipes to the underside of his cock, pinned down. Slade holds him there, breathing heavy. 

"Fuck," Slade mutters, and the next snap of his hips is sharp, the intrusion into Will's throat faster than he can prepare for, no swallowing and no steady breaths, just purely _filled._ "So good," he exhales.

He holds Will steady with a firm hand, his fingers broad and hot like brands. With his other hand, he reaches down, cups Will's jaw and runs his thumb along the split-wide curve of his lips, wet with spit, starting to drip from the corners. He chokes on the next punch in, but holds still, let's it happen. 

It's a strange feeling, being used. Not quite a good feeling, but it sparks something in his gut, legs splayed wide on the mats. Under all the bruises and aches Slade's given him, his dick throbs, hard and ignored. Like this, he can't even reach, and so he sets his hand on Slade's thigh instead. Digs his nails in and urges him forward, keeping his mouth as lax as he can. 

Slade helps with that, at least. Hooks a thumb against his mouth, pressed to his teeth, his voice turned to gravel and honey when he starts murmuring— praise. Kind, pretty words that Will's never had directed at him, not even close, at odds with the assault on his throat. 

It makes his mouth water, the slide of Slade's cock in louder and quicker, wet obscene noises that would make him embarrassed if he had any shreds of _that_ left. As it is, he's splayed wide on a training mat, throatfucked and very obviously the loser here. Will groans, a thrill up his spine when Slade nearly shakes above him, and pulls out with a wet _pop._

"You gonna—" _oh, that's his voice,_ raw and thick, that's what he sounds like after— briefly, he wonders if Slade would sound the same, flat on his back with his throat battered. "You gonna drag this out all day?" 

"If I want." Slade murmurs. Even as he says it, he tugs Will up by his hair, pulls with his thumb against Will's mouth until he's wide open again, cool air hitting his tongue. "You want it over quicker?" 

Like this, he can't exactly answer, and so Will simply relaxes his jaw that little bit more, aware he's starting to _drool._ More than that even, spilling over his bruised lip, down onto his chest just as Slade's cock drips with his saliva. 

"Your funeral," Slade murmurs, and then _moves._

Quicker and far more smooth than he has any right to be, sliding from Will's chest to bracketing his head with broad thighs. Pretty damn quickly, the world gets _dark,_ Will's head yanked back against the training mat with a grunt, too startled to do more than dig his nails into Slade's calves and tense up. 

Right on target, Slade's cock presses into his throat again, and stays buried there, hot and heavy, hitting every wall of Will's mouth. Will gags, real and hard, the new angle jutting against his reflex, eyes watering to the point of spilling over. Not crying, in his book. It's different. 

Still, a new sensation to add to the many of today, ready to be picked apart later. Later, when he can do more than paw at Slade's thighs and take in the blurry view of tense, defined abs, the sharp cut of Slade's hips, looming above him. Will presses his thighs together _hard,_ writhes on the mat when nothing moves and there's no reprieve and his lungs feel all kinds of wrong. Not burning, but like they should be. 

Slade makes a guttural noise, rocks into his mouth with short, measured movements. Grinding against the bruised confines of his throat, Will's stomach rolling at the next press against his gag reflex. 

Slade pulls up an inch, and Will takes a mile, turning his head to the side sharply, teeth scraping over sensitive skin until Slade rises up a little more. He coughs wetly, sucking in grateful gulps of air, and grunts. 

"Had enough?" 

"Shut up," Will groans. He swallows, acutely aware of all the spots that now _hurt,_ and swallows again. Salt and saliva and the taste of Slade thick on his tongue, at the back of his teeth, in his throat. When he turns his head back, Slade's cock hits his cheek wetly, hot to the touch. 

Tentatively, he mouths at him, not surprised in the slightest when a hand slides into his hair, holding him still. 

"Kinda like when you choke on me," Slade comments, more than a little breathless. "Don't move." He adds, firm. "Mouth open." 

If he had any room, he'd think of something snarky to say, something to make Slade a little rough, but there's no room to even start and the plan, it seems, is to be rough anyway. Will _does_ choke, and Slade's cock twitches in his throat, almost becoming familiar at this point to just open up and take it. 

Strong hips grind down into him, a perfectly practiced motion. Will's eyes slip shut, holding back a fresh wave of reflexive tears. And then he lifts up, Will inhaling sharply for the brief seconds that he can, Slade fucking back into his throat. Up, again, the intent clear, Will braced for the punch against the tender back of his throat. 

He can take a _lot_ without a flinch. Took a beating off Slade without a flinch, and far more before that. Probably more in his future. 

Will grips Slade's thighs hard enough he _must_ break skin, and stamps down the sudden, eye-watering urge to gag, swallowing around the thick intrusion. Slade must notice, because he groans, pumps his hips in short, quick thrusts, before returning to deep drives in, this time so much smoother. 

Somehow, this went from a quick blowjob to getting his face fucked, and Slade takes it for all it's worth. Picks up the pace in increments, until every thrust jolts Will's head back against the mats, warm thighs bracketing his throat and shoulders. He doesn't choke, controlled enough to stave that reflex off, but he does moan, vibrations on his tongue that make Slade _tremble_ at points. 

It feels good, being able to do that. A speck of control. A heady feeling, knowing he's— close, maybe. Because of Will. His mouth, his tongue. Above him, Slade curses his name, jackknifes into his throat again, and the noise is loud in the empty training arena, echoing a little. 

There's a certain rhythm to it, once he lets it happen, loosening his death grip on Slade's skin. Relaxing into the mats as much as he can manage, a warm mouth and aching lungs, Will's lips bruised and tingling as he sucks on Slade's cock, buried deep in his throat. Inhales calming breaths between the next intrusion, exhales when Slade allows. 

It's what he'd wanted, after all. As uncomfortable as it is, it's pleasant in a way, too. Once he lets Slade take over — no choice _but_ to let him have the reins — it's a hell of a lot easier to let his mind go a little quieter. A series of sensations and responses, aching and bruised, full and not-full, listening to the soft curses from Slade's mouth and the heavy, stuttered breaths that follow. That's Will, for as long as Slade hammers into his mouth, chasing his pleasure with single-minded focus. 

It's almost unpleasant when that rhythm abruptly stops, Slade settling on him with _force._ And then there's a low, drawn out, raw groan falling from his lips, Slade's cock pulsing against the flat of his tongue. Coming down his throat, the sensation barely felt when all his nerves are a little numbed and overworked at this point. 

Will tightens his grip again, briefly. Works his throat as best he can, trembling swallows that pull sharp, short pants from Slade as he comes. Will presses his thumbs into the muscle of Slade's thigh, setting them in small circular motions as Slade rides his orgasm out. 

"We should," Slade pants, shifting over him, sending his cock grinding against his palate, "do this again sometime. First time, huh?" A slight whine tinges his words, uncharacteristic on Slade.

Will nearly laughs, thinks better of it at the last minute. Tension definitely broken. He pats Slade's thigh, waiting patiently for him to shift up and off, but Slade takes a moment to rise up on his knees and just— stare down at Will, cock still in his mouth. 

Heat rises on his face the longer Slade just _looks,_ all kinds of intense, and wonders what a mess he looks right then. Saliva and tear-tracks. Bruises and a bloodshot black eye. Slade's cock in his raw, swollen mouth, sliding along his lips when Slade grips himself and wipes the spit from his shaft. 

He doesn't say anything, only slides off Will near silently, resting on his knees with a long exhale to his left. "Pretty good." With a grunt, he stretches out his arms up above his head, rolling out his shoulders.

For a second, Will's mouth doesn't work, used and a little abused, and then he scoffs. "What." 

Slade snorts, looks at him with a smirk curving his mouth. Somehow, he manages to look put-together, a red flush down his chest the only giveaway. In comparison, Will's all kinds of _fucked_ right then, saliva cooling on his skin, still achingly hard in his sweatpants. 

"Fuck you." Will mutters. Makes to sit up, and then gives up almost immediately, hitting the mats with a dull _slap._ "Carry me." He grunts. His mouth tastes like salt, Will running his tongue over his teeth. "Shower." 

"Magic word." 

"Bruce." Will says, slow and enunciated. He stares at the ceiling and mentally ticks _facefuck_ off his apparent bucket list. He's done it. It made his head turn to soft, cotton-y thoughts and his body ache pleasantly as he heals. "Will have a lot to say, if you don't." 

To his credit, Slade doesn't laugh, but he does tip to the side, planting a hand by Will's head. Stares down at him for a long, quiet moment, flicking his gaze from Will's wrecked mouth to his eyes and back again. 

"Can I kiss you?" He asks, quiet. 

"You just had your dick in there." Will points out, both as a _yes_ and as a very pointed reminder that chivalry is dead for now. "If you want." He adds, when Slade doesn't move. 

When he does lean down, it's real gentle, real wet. Slade's tongue slides against his briefly, Will's mouth oversensitive and clumsy when he kisses back, earning himself a pleasant hum. 

"Did good." Slade murmurs. The change of pace is unexpected, but nice at least. Will smiles ever so slightly, Slade's teeth nipping at his bottom lip. He dips in one last time, mapping out Will's mouth in a few quick strokes before he pulls back, offering Will a hand. "Let's get you cleaned up." 

After a moment of hesitation, he takes Slade's hand, firm and warm in his, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. "Sure." He wipes at his mouth with his forearm, frowning slightly. "Bruce is going to kill us." 

"Probably." Slade agrees lightly, studiously focused on fixing his sweatpants. "Problem for after a shower." 


End file.
